Atlantistastic!
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: In the tradition of Snarktastic, I come bearing Atlantis themed one shots and drabbles. Every genre, every pairing, every character. Request it and I'll write it!
1. Rodneycentric 1

A/N: The Snarktastic legacy lives on...why? Because I found a load of old unpublished one-shots and needed somewhere to stick 'em. So, Atlantistastic! was born. More drabbles and one-shots with an Atlantis flavored theme than you can shake a stick at. There will be the required Rodney-ness that you've come to expect from me, but for a change, I'm branching out, babe! Every pairing, every genre, every _character_...request it and it'll be written, kids. Pay attention to the chapter names to find the stories that feature your favorite characters and pairings. Don't see what you want? Request it!

Now then, let's dive in, shall we?

**Prompt: **The first sentences challenge on the When Plot Bunnies Attack forum, number seven: Love thyself.

**Word Count:** 800

**SPOILERS FOR SUNDAY!**

-

Love thyself was never a concept that Rodney McKay had a problem understanding. To the outside observer, he absolutely _adored_ himself, and to the not so outside observer...someone who knew him a little bit better than those he met on the street...

Well, he was a _good_ man but he was still a conceited man.

Rodney kept his more prickly personality traits closer to the surface, using them as a shield for his deeper, more vulnerable self. The sarcasm and inflated ego were nothing more than smoke and mirrors to keep his feelings under wraps.

After all, it was much easier to snap at someone than it was to break down...much easier to keep from being hurt if he struck first and didn't let anyone _in_.

But even Rodney's defense mechanisms weren't fool proof. Like any other kind of armor, they could be pulled away like so much wrapping paper and shredded before his eyes, leaving his emotions naked and exposed for all the world to see.

It only happened under the most extreme of circumstances--when his feelings were so potent that he couldn't bury them beneath seemingly impenetrable layers of work, self absorption and snappy comebacks--but it _did_ happen.

Far more often than he liked to admit, in all honesty.

Whenever Rodney was feeling vulnerable, he would put himself in self imposed solitary confinement, finding peace with silence and his own company, rather than finding comfort with friends the way 'normal' people would. He _liked_ being alone when he needed to think about things. It gave him an opportunity to recharge and to make certain that his 'I don't like you, go away' mask was put firmly back in place where it belonged.

There were a few people who could rip off that mask, toss it aside and see what lay beneath, whether he liked it or not, but recently, that select number had suffered

a loss.

Which was why Rodney was staring sightlessly at the waves, trying to make sense of the universe. If he were rational and someone had suggested that he wasn't able to make sense of the universe, he would have snapped at them, waved his high IQ around in circles and said that he knew how to make sense of the universe just fine, thank you very much.

And he _could_...through the eyes of logic and science.

Through the eyes of a man--a man who was currently feeling like he was drowning in feelings that he usually tried to keep buried--_nothing_ made sense anymore.

The closest thing he'd ever had to a best friend had suddenly been torn away from him and he felt...

He felt _lost_.

There was just no other word for it.

Maybe 'numb' would have fit in this situation, but he was hurting too much.

Guilt was a powerful master for Rodney, blinding in its intensity and with a firm choke hold around his throat. He didn't feel guilty often, but when he did he made it _count_.

Today was one of those days.

Even if he knew running the scenario over and over again in his head wouldn't solve anything, he still couldn't shake the thoughts of Carson that haunted him. It was like the man was standing right there, staring at him reproachfully.

Though he spoke to the specter...said goodbye...made it known just how bad he felt...he knew that it was nothing more than his mind trying to cope with the loss in the only way it knew how: by calling up a vision of a man who couldn't _possibly_ be there and making the aforementioned vision absolve him of some of his guilt the way a priest in a confessional could.

Rodney sighed. He should have gone fishing...he'd have been so much happier if he'd gone fishing...

But nooooo, he had to pull out of the deal at the last minute...

And take away Carson's good time, only to replace it with _death._

For this, Rodney was angry at himself, but the anger was buried beneath the immeasurable layers of remorse and grief that were floating on top of all his _other_ emotions. Self loathing had taken the place of inflated ego, an almost wholly unfamiliar feeling.

What he regretted most of all was the fact he hadn't gotten the opportunity to say goodbye to Beckett...

Of course, if given the choice, he would have rather not said goodbye at _all_...but if wishes were horses...

He really should've just gone fishing...

McKay straightened up slightly, his eyes gone wide and shiny with the light of a good idea coming from their depths.

He could make it up to Beckett...in spirit if not in truth...he _could_...

An ironic little upwards twist of the lips accompanied Rodney's statement to the air around him, "I'm going to need a fishing pole."


	2. Teylacentric 1

**Prompt: **The first sentences challenge on the When Plot Bunnies Attack forum, number twenty nine: The light was always on...

**Word Count:**388

**-**

The light was always on...

Always on...always on...

She couldn't sleep without it anymore.

The dark had become her worst enemy.

It was in the dark that they came.

Whoever _they_ were. 

She couldn't tell who they were…what they wanted...why they were there…

Teyla only knew that they were _not_ to be trusted. Especially not in the dark.

They _tried_ to trick her, but she was more clever than they were…oh yes, she was far smarter than they were…

That's why she was _here. _They told her not to come…not to go back to the ancient lab with the strange devices but she knew she had to be here if she wanted to remain sane.

The light would protect her. The light that seared her eyeballs and burned her skin until it blistered beneath the white hot brightness.

She didn't care what the one pretending to be McKay said…there was no radiation in this place, only beautiful, pure, luminous _light_.

And that was what she needed. Light.

_This_ light. _Only_ this light…for no other sort was as brilliant or held as much appeal for her. She was as a child would be with a shiny bauble. Drawn to it inexplicably, not caring what sorts of dangerous properties it might possess, only caring that she could touch it and be a part of the sparkles that danced in front of her eyes.

And she _did_ touch it…she touched it and became one with it. The hot, scorching feeling raced along her skin and while she _should_ have been in pain, all she could think of was how wonderful it would be to become part of this exquisite glow.

It invaded her senses, tore at her fragile human body and left its marks everywhere it touched.

In an instant, she felt herself becoming part of the luminescence, felt her body being taken over by it as she slipped further into its balmy embrace and further away from the mortal plane of existence.

It was extraordinary. In an instant she knew everything--_saw_ everything--was a _part_ of everything, from the tallest tower of Atlantis to the lowest particle of dust, she was part of it all and it was _magnificent_…

Until everything went cold and still.

There was no pain. There was no warmth.

But most of all, there was no light.


	3. MichaelxSheppard

Prompt: eris86 requested this pairing. Blame her.

Word Count: 181

Discretion may be the better part of valor, but admiration is the beginning of obsession.

Michael (or whatever his name was now...he wasn't exactly clear on all the details anymore) had admired John Sheppard from afar.

This was his military commander...his _superior_...he wasn't _allowed_ to feel the things he did...

And yet..._and yet_...

The intense longing was still _there_.

He watched Sheppard whenever he could-soaked in everything about him-his mannerisms, his voice, his _scent_...

From admiration grew desperation...

From desperation grew obsession...

From that obsession and the betrayal of the entire Atlantis expedition grew searing _hatred._

When he finally found Sheppard in his grasp...finally prepared to show him all the agony that he had caused-not only from the betrayal but also from the primal hunger that he'd awakened in his being-Michael could no more take John's life than take his _own_.

But he couldn't release him _either_.

Now, with his object of obsession in such a vulnerable position, Michael saw the opportunity to have what he'd lusted after for so long...

It would be a most excruciating-yet pleasurable-torture for them both.


	4. SheppardxKolya

**Prompt:** Someone who has requested to remain nameless requested a hint of Sheppard/Kolya; I used the first sentence from the When Plot Bunnies Attack forum first sentence challenge, number 41.

**Word count:** 189

-

Bang, you're dead... that's the magic of a gun. A single shot and you're gone.

Life is such a precious thing...a man can contribute so much to the world should he choose to and with a single piece of flying lead it can all end in an instant.

So anti-climactic.

Like a candle being snuffed out.

It shouldn't have been quite so easy to quiet the flame of Kolya's life, but there he was...lying dead on the ground with a bullet to the chest.

Sheppard could only think that it was the easiest kill he'd ever made.

Both the easiest _and_ the hardest.

He respected Kolya at the deepest level, though he'd never admit it. Oh, he didn't respect his methods or his morals, but John couldn't _help_ but respect the way he'd stuck by his cause regardless of what odds he was facing.

After all, much as he hated to admit it, he and Kolya weren't all _that_ different...

Both had the same dogged determination in everything they did...both believed in their respective causes...

Pulling that trigger...for John Sheppard, it was almost like killing a piece of himself. 


	5. WeirxKavanagh

**Prompt:** LB Gregory asked for Kavanagh/Weir, and I saw the opportunity to use a first line from the WPBA forum First Sentence Challenge. Well...here it is. -twitch, twitch, twitchtwitchtwitch- Kav/Weir sentence prompt number eight "She was such an arrogant bitch..." WARNING, BORDERLINE NON-CONSENSUAL! -flail-

Skip it if you don't want to read it. You _have_ been warned.

**Word Count:** 628

**-**

She was such an arrogant bitch.

So untouchable, so unshakeable...

So..._perfect_.

He hated her at first. She was too rigid, too _cold_...

Kavanagh hated that she held such power over him. Not only the power granted her by being the leader of the expedition, the power she _unknowingly_ held over him.

The power she held as a _woman_.

She was positively _maddening_ to be around. He snapped at her, insulted her...

He tried to hurt her before she had the opportunity to hurt _him_...

But it didn't matter. Regardless of how much he wanted to _truly_ despise her, all he could muster was halfhearted attempts.

Kavanagh secretly _pined_ for her.

She was so..._strong_.

All he wanted was to be a part of that inner strength. To be a part of _her_.

Every quality he found lacking in himself, he saw in her...

It was love born of envy and obsession, but it was pure and blinding in its strength. He dared anyone to try and cast doubt on the honesty of his admiration.

He never spoke of it...he didn't _dare_...he knew she would never return even a fraction of the all consuming adoration for her, if she ever _did_ realize why he was so prickly with her...

So it came as a surprise when, one night, wandering the corridors of Atlantis, they ran into each other.

The spirit of some braver man must've possessed him in those few seconds when he grabbed her arms and steadied her, the smell of her shampoo assaulting his senses until he couldn't see straight anymore.

He crushed her to him and kissed her as passionately as he'd fantasized, swallowing her protests and shoving them aside with insistent lips and probing tongue.

Either she enjoyed it or she was in shock, because she melted into him for a few moments before she came to her sentences and slapped him hard enough to send his glasses skittering across the hallway.

An incredibly, deep seated part of him--the most animalistic part--caused him to act next.

Rather than turning to flee, he advanced on her, pressed her to the wall and kissed her soundly once more.

She struck at him, naturally, and though her pounding fists were a minor distraction, the lust that boiled in his veins overtook all common sense and he just pushed_ harder_.

Over the moments that seemed to stretch for eternity, as his hands roamed over her form, touching, caressing and desperate for more contact, her struggles started to lose some of their fire. Her fingers stopped scratching and starting clawing, bringing him closer to her, crushing him against her chest as she mated mouths with him again and again.

With every guttural moan and each panting, searching breath, it grew more intense, until he was so drugged with the feel, the smell--the _taste_ of her--that he could stand it no longer.

It was a damn good thing her quarters had been so close, or else he might have wound up taking her then and there in the hallway.

On that bed in her quarters where he worshiped her as he'd longed to for such an immeasurable length of time, her frozen exterior melted under his questing hands, crying out and pulling him closer until they were one at last.

Razor sharp roars were torn from her throat with the force of their passion, and though in the morning, things went back to the way they had been, every night thereafter, he made short work of her icy countenance, turning her from ice to flame in seconds flat.

Outside, she was still that arrogant bitch…untouchable, unshakeable and unaffected, but he took pride in the fact that under his ministrations, and _only_ his ministrations, he made her _shatter_.

And she did so _beautifully_.

-

A/N: God, I feel so _violated_.

By my **own** writing. -twitch-

I didn't like writing that. -twitch twitch-

But part of me is extraordinarily happy with it. This is the closest I've ever come to writing honest to God _smut._ Go me.

Can I go back to writing _normal_ things now, please?


	6. RodneyxSheppard Friendship 1

**Prompt: **First sentence prompt on the when Plot Bunnies attack forum, number six "She spoke in a language I couldn't understand."

**Word Count: **104 (Hey, in drabble range! Go me!)

**-**

"She spoke in a language I couldn't understand," Sheppard defended, looping his shirt over his arms before pulling it on.

"Oh right, likely story," Rodney snapped in response, crossing his arms over his chest and _glaring_ at John Sheppard with obvious disgust.

"It's true!" John stated with vehemence.

Rodney tipped his head and narrowed his eyes at the colonel. "You know, her stripping you down to your boxers is pretty easy to understand, even for a dimwit like you. Not much room for interpretation there, no matter _what_ language she was speaking."

John smirked. "You're just upset you didn't think of this excuse _first_."


	7. RodneyxRonon Friendship 1

Prompt: At one point during 'Snarktastic!' someone wanted Rodney and Ronon bonding. Someone else wanted Rodney in a story about...well, you'll see. The two were combined and shameless friendshippy fluff was born.

Word Count: 352

-

For the first time in a good long while, Rodney McKay felt like a complete and total moron. Here he was, slinking into the infirmary as stealthily as he possibly could with a soft brown ball of fluff tucked under one arm, trying to approach the row of beds where he knew one of his team mates to be lying unconscious.

Never in all his days did Rodney think he'd be trying to sneak up on _Ronon_. Much _less_ to give him something.

The Satedan's breathing was deep and slow, indicating that he was asleep but that did little to assuage Rodney's fears of being caught doing what he was doing.

Nervously, he approached the large warrior's bedside, making much less noise than he thought he would, and looked sadly at his fallen friend. He'd been here for three weeks, slipping in and out of a coma after severe physical injuries on a particularly nasty mission and though Carson had done his best, all they could do was wait and see.

Rodney was fine with that for a while...but eventually he started getting antsy.

So now he was here, feeling (and most likely _looking_) ridiculous, in a last ditch effort...the act of a desperate man...to bring Ronon back to the world of the living once and for all.

Rodney set the ball of fluff, with one missing eye and a tattered ear, on the bedside table and glanced around, making certain that nobody was watching. He spoke sternly to the little one eyed ball of fluff, using much the same no-nonsense tone he would have with a particularly idiotic underling, and said it with urgency as though it were a living, breathing _sentient_ being that could understand his hiss of a whisper and act according to his orders.

"You...do whatever it is that teddy bears are supposed to do to make people feel better."

McKay left the infirmary as quickly and quietly as he had entered it, still feeling foolish for believing in whatever childhood magic was supposed to be housed within fake fur and polyester filler.

Ronon woke three days later.


	8. Rodneycentric 2

Prompt: The When Plot Bunnies Attack first sentence challenge, number thirty one: "No use crying..." (Take place after Sunday.)

Word Count: 428

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"No use crying," Rodney muttered to himself as he stared at the stark white headstone poking up from beneath the fallen October leaves, already starting to rot.

He'd come back to Earth on the anniversary of Carson Beckett's death every year for almost a decade now, and it never got any easier to face.

He sniffed once and told himself sternly that it was just his allergies acting up, or maybe it was the wind blowing so hard it was chapping his nose. Yes, that's all that was to it. Damned Scottish winds. The man whose grave site he'd come to visit just _had_ to have a plot without any cover from the bitter wind that was blustering about.

Rodney pulled his jacket tighter about himself as his scarf flapped behind him in the frosty breeze.

"Pardon me."

McKay turned, wincing slightly as the wind bit into his face when he spun on his heel.

Behind him, a much older woman with a bunch of flowers in her hand stood, her burgundy coat trimmed in an uncomfortably familiar tartan plaid. She took a few hobbling steps forward and laid the greenery on the grave soil; a bunch of much-too-bright daisies now standing as a stark contrast to the decaying fallen leaves before she straightened out and looked at him.

"Come to mourn, have you?" Her voice was a brisk Scottish brogue, almost as sharp as the wind itself.

Rodney felt the urge to snap at her with a tart "Well, what _else_ would I be doing in a graveyard?" but looking at her, he felt he needed to suppress the urge and nodded solemnly instead.

"Were you one of Carson's friends?" The little old lady asked brightly, blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

Rodney cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh…yes, yes I was."

She nodded, adjusting the lapels of her coat as she did so. "I'm his mum, you know."

"I could…uh see the resemblance," he replied awkwardly, not liking the way she was scrutinizing him in the least.

She considered him for a moment, tipping her head this way and that as she stared at him, like she was weighing his worth by appearance alone and Rodney was starting to feel like an animal in the zoo.

"Would you like a cup of tea, young man?" She said finally, her wrinkles spreading into a fond smile that had the ghost of Carson in it.

"That would be…" Rodney stared at the eyes that reminded him so strongly of Beckett and found he couldn't refuse. "That would be nice." 


End file.
